Something seizes at his chest, and his eyes burn. His skin warms with the ghost of flames and a body that fits so perfectly against his. Silver eyes glitter in the firelight, and Calum lets out a sob at the memory. He presses his palms to his eyelidsand cries in a way he hasn’t let himself do since Lonnie handed over the envelope. He slams a hand against the steering wheel, cursing loudly, and wipes away the wet on his cheeks.
He reverses from his parking spot roughly, jerkily, too fast to be safe. The tires screech against the pavement as he slams a foot onto the accelerator. Thankfully, no one is around while he speeds toward the entrance of the lot. He stops only to check for oncoming traffic then speeds away.
The building is filled with the sound of old country music and pool balls clattering. Calum ignores everyone else, makes his way to the bar. The bartender raises a brow when he plops down onto the stool, but then her full, painted lips curve upwards.
“What can I get for ya?”
“Whiskey. Don’t care about the label. Just give me lots of it.”
“You got it.”
She ambles away once he has his drink, and he rests his head on his palm. He needs something,anything, to get his mind off of Rett and the damage she’s done.
The bartender calls a cab for him at last call, and Calum stumbles outside to wait. Hot summer air envelops him, coaxing a thin layer of sweat to pop to life on his skin, and he leans against the side of the building to stare at the sky. There are no stars to be seen through the lights, and a sharpness claws at his insides.
There are always stars in Oak Creek.
But Oak Creek isn’t home anymore, hasn’t been since Rett left.
He makes it home and into bed before the tears win again.
Calum stares at the box in the back of his closet. He can’t remember what it holds, but he knows it can’t be good if he’s intentionally left it untouched for so long. Sighing, he hauls it down from the shelf and carries it to his bed. A small puff of dust rises off the box as he drops it to the mattress. His fingernailfinds the edge of the tape, and he picks and picks and picks at it until the tape rips away from cardboard.
Calum stares down at the maroon fabric on top. He doesn’t need to pull it out. He knows what it is—he knows the mascot and white letters that adorn the front. The fabric is still so soft when his fingers wrap around the hoodie. He remembers taking it from Rett’s dorm room on one of his rare visits. At the time, he thought they were doing fine. He never thought the hoodie would be a painful reminder of what could have been.
Without thinking, he tugs the hoodie over his head and lets it settle on his frame. It fits more snugly than he remembers; he’s no longer a scrawny teenager barely into adulthood. He has grown, filled out. Calum sniffs at the cotton, wondering if it’s just his imagination or if he really can smell coconut. His ears fill with the music of her laughter; his lips tingle with the taste of her kiss, cherry-coated. Everything she was, he sees again.
He should have known it would end, he thinks. Good things never lasted long for him.
Calum sprawls across his bed much the same way Rett had that cold December night, though it’s nothing like it used to be. She isn’t here to celebrate his eighteenth birthday or prove their love still burns inside of her. He lost her again, this time to another man, and this is something he can never get over.
Rolling onto his side, he curls up and closes his eyes. Her ghost presses against his back, an arm snaking over his waist. He lets the specter of what they were comfort him to sleep.
Calum steps through the front door of his mother’s apartment early the next evening. She demanded he be present for a family dinner, and who is he to argue with the only remaining family he has left? Josie cocks her head at the sight of a box beneath his arm.
“You bring us presents?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Not exactly. It’s something I need shipped out.”
“So why don’t you do it?”
Because I am pathetic and can’t let go. “I have to go to work early tomorrow, and I won’t get done until after the post office closes.”
His sister nods slowly, as if she’s reading more into his words than what he’s saying. But that’s impossible. She’s only sixteen, she doesn’t understand what it feels like. How all-encompassing, all-consuming the love he holds for Rett is, how much the pain of losing her has shaped who he is. He hopes she never finds out.
Calum sets the box on the coffee-table and strides into the kitchen. His footsteps falter as he takes in the two young women leaning against the counter. Miranda is the first to react: She rolls her eyes and throws a dishtowel in his direction.
“Gonna stare all day, idiot?”
“Miranda Nicole,” their mother snaps, and the nineteen-year-old shrugs without shame.
Calum plucks the towel up off the floor, tossing it onto the table, and crosses the room to haul Miranda in for a tight hug. Melissa is next; at almost twenty-three, she’s nearly as tall as he is. Her brown hair tickles his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away. He’s missed his sisters. They were a pain in his ass when they were all younger, when he was angry at the world and desperate to prove it, but he can’t imagine not having Miranda and Melissa in his life.
Natalie promises to take the box to the post office first thing in the morning, and Calum breathes easier knowing he’s one step closer to shutting the book on a painful chapter in his life. All he has to do is get rid of the photograph of Rett that he keeps hanging on his wall. Then he’ll truly get closure.
Hopefully.
He sleeps on his mother’s couch tonight and is gone before the sun even rises.
